completely detached from what she
was apparently born as. Unable to imag-
ine what her father felt as he stood in
Chuck’s Donuts sniffing fish sauce, she
can only laugh. Even now, when she can
no longer stomach seeing him, she laughs
when she thinks about her father.
Tevy carries little guilt about her de-
tachment from her culture. At times,
though, she feels overwhelmed, as if
her thoughts are coiling through her
brain, as if her head will explode. This
is what drives her to join Kayley in the
pursuit of discovering all there is to
know about the man.
O
ne night, Kayley decides that the
man is the spitting image of her
father. It’s unreal, she argues. “Just look
at him,” she mutters, changing the
coffee filters in the industrial brewers.
“They have the same chin. Same hair.
Same everything.”
Sothy, placing fresh doughnuts in
the display case, responds, “Be careful
with those machines.”
“Dumbass,” Tevy hisses, refilling the
cannisters of cream and sugar. “Don’t
you think Mom would’ve noticed by
now if he looked like Dad?”
By this point, Sothy, Tevy, and Kay-
ley have grown accustomed to the man’s
presence, aware that on any given night
he may appear sometime between mid-
night and four. The daughters whisper
about him, half hoping that where he
sits is out of earshot, half hoping he’ll
overhear them. Kayley speculates about
his motives: if he’s a police officer on a
stakeout, say, or a criminal on the run.
She deliberates over whether he’s a good
man or a bad one. Tevy, on the other
hand, theorizes about the man’s pur-
pose—if, for example, he feels detached
from the world and can center himself
only here, in Chuck’s Donuts, around
other Khmer people. Both sisters won-
der about his life: the kind of women he
attracts and has dated; the women he
has spurned; whether he has siblings, or
kids; whether he looks more like his
mother or father.
Sothy ignores them. She is tired of
thinking about other people, especially
these customers from whom she barely
profits.
“Mom, you see what I’m seeing, right?”
Kayley says, to no response. “You’re not
even listening, are you?”
“Why should she listen to you?”
Tevy snaps.
Kayley throws her arms up. “You’re
just being mean because you think the
man is hot,” she retorts. “You basically
said so yesterday. You’re like this gross
person who thinks her dad is hot, only
now you’re taking it out on me. And he
looks just like Dad, for your informa-
tion. I brought a picture to prove it.”
She pulls a photograph from her pocket
and holds it up with one hand.
Bright red sears itself onto Tevy’s
cheeks. “I did not say that,” she states,
and, from across the counter, she tries
to snatch the photo from Kayley, only
to succeed in knocking an industrial
coffee brewer to the ground.
Hearing metal parts clang on the
ground and scatter, Sothy finally turns
her attention to her daughters. “What
did I tell you, Kayley!” she yells, her en-
tire face tense with anger.
“Why are you yelling at me? This is
her fault!” Kayley gestures wildly to-
ward her sister. Tevy, seeing the oppor-
tunity, grabs the photo. “Give that back
to me,” Kayley demands. “You don’t
even like Dad. You never have.”
And Tevy says, “Then you’re contra-
dicting yourself, aren’t you?” Her face
still burning, she tries to recapture an
even, analytical tone. “So which is it?
Am I in love with Dad or do I, like, hate
him?” she asks. “You are so stupid. I wasn’t
saying the man was hot, anyway. I just
pointed out that he’s not, like, ugly. ”
“I’m tired of this bullshit,” Kayley
responds. “You guys treat me like I’m
nothing.”
Surveying the damage her daugh-
ters have caused, Sothy snatches the
photograph from Tevy. “Clean this mess
up!” she yells, and then walks out of
the seating area, exasperated.
In the bathroom, Sothy splashes water
on her face. She looks at her reflection
in the mirror, noticing the bags under
“What’s the verdict, Doc—exercise?”
